A Turn Unexpected
by WrittinInStone
Summary: Nyota Uhura is a woman dedicated to her goals and committed to her dream of joining Starfleet and reaching the stars. For nearly twenty years she has worked to achieve her aspirations to the exclusion of nearly all else. But then something happens that she hadn't prepared for, that blindsides her so completely that she doesn't quite know how to react: She falls in love.
1. The Cadet

**1. The Cadet**

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be… _higher_.

When I was younger, I used to stare up at the night sky as the wind brushed gently against the sand in front of my _nyumbani_, wondering what was hidden in the depths of the infinite darkness of space, dreaming of the day I would no longer be looking at them from afar, but when I would be among them.

It started with the stories my father and uncle used to tell my siblings and me, stories of discovery, mystery and love: A tale of the stars and their adventures in Starfleet.

Every word my Baba uttered, every breath that left his mouth, spoke of his love of space, a love that he passed on to me.

"That's why your name is what it is," Baba had said, his warm brown eyes gazing lovingly at me, the earthy scent of sandalwood clinging to his clothes, "it's because I knew that one of my children would be as I am and I waited patiently for that day to come. When your sister was born I wasn't sure if it was her, but I could see as she grew older that she took after your mother, that she would be a lover of words… of peace. Then, came your brother, a right scoundrel he is; a replica of your Uncle and a lover of math. But I remained patient, for I knew that my time would come. Then, low and behold, my _kipusa kidege_, my little bird, you were born and as soon as I saw you I knew that it would be you. That is why I named you Nyota Samara Uhura."

He held up one finger and I begin to recite it with him, the words I'd heard from infancy.

"Nyota," we began together, solemnly, "for a star that shines brightly in the darkness. Samara, a prayer for _Munga's_ protection, and Uhura, one who is ever a lover of freedom."

I smiled at him as we quietly finished the ritual, then I sighed and snuggled into his massive chest. All was right in the world; all was good and fair in his strong arms.

My Baba's words inspired me in a way that nothing else ever had: I wanted to go to the stars, to experience all that he had and more. And when, at the tender age of five, I voiced my desire to be in Starfleet, no one in my family was surprised.

I started researching in earnest, entreating my father for help in finding an avenue that would allow me to get into Starfleet. Baba told me that though difficult, the way was simple: To be accepted into Starfleet I would have to be the best of the best, to shine the brightest amongst all the other candidates.

It didn't take me long to figure out just how to do it.

My older sister, Sakina? She could speak in such a way that would have two bitter enemies sitting down together in peace. My brother, Desta? He could understand the most difficult of mathematical equations, and my younger sister, Ayah, had all the makings to be a extraordinary doctor.

But me? I was good at math too, but my true skills lied elsewhere: I could hear, could imitate even the most complex of sounds… and I knew computers.

And I would use these skills to my advantage.

Language would be my ticket, and communications, my the transport, to be a bridge officer on a Federation starship.

Just like my father.

Dogged in the pursuit of my goals, I tackled my schoolwork with a passion that surprised and pleased my parents and teachers. It was difficult at first. There were so many _other_ things that I wanted to do. Wonderful things! There were parties I wanted to attend, friends I wanted to hang out with… boys I wanted to ogle. In those times when temptation was greatest and I began to lean toward the decision of putting off my studies, I'd look to the sky and force myself to turn away from the fun, from the frivolous recreation that would provide only fleeting pleasure. I did not have time to do those things, I had to work to get into Starfleet… and work I did.

I studied every language that I could gain access too.

No Federation language was too hard, no dialect too obscure: Betazoid, all three dialects of Romulan, Vuhlkansu, it didn't matter; I studied them all. It was extremely involved work. They were all so very different that it took an incredible amount of time to keep them all straight in my head.

Yet I did it; the more I practiced, the easier it all became and my heart soared as I realized that I could do it, that I could achieve my dreams.

But my determination came at a heavy price.

My friendships suffered and my growing reputation as a no-nonsense schoolgirl made making new friends all the harder. While I liked the fact that I was perceived as smart and hardworking, it saddened me that the other side of my personality was unknown. I loved fun, very much so; hanging out, laughing and having a good time were all favorite past times of mine just like any other girl my age.

But there was never any time to show that side of myself, no one who had met that Nyota.

When I did have free time, or was forced to relax by my Mama, I often found myself alone and seeking the company of my siblings.

It was then that I began to understand the beauty and necessity of balance.

It was a lesson well learned, but one that had come too late. By the time I realized its importance, my friends had given up on having me around and had gotten used to my absence.

They had moved on without me.

Now, with only my siblings as close companions, I delved even deeper into the world of languages. At first, it had been a means to an end; a way to get into Starfleet, but then I began to realize languages' significance. I was learning _life_, to relate to and communicate with others. It dawned on me that my position on a ship was more than a mere niche that needed to be filled; it was vital—however much this more liberal field was disrespected in Starfleet, a place where hard sciences were considered the best sciences— and could mean the difference between life and death.

That was when I truly fell in love with linguistics.

I learned to love everything about it. Phonology, morphology, syntax… it was all beautiful.

One language I didn't have to actively learn was Standard; we spoke it regularly in my household and it is just as much my native language as Kiswahil. Knowing Standard was a huge advantage as it is the universal language of business and politics within the Federation. It also made it easier for my family to move from Kenya to America which we did when I was about ten years old. Though the adjustment was difficult, I couldn't begrudge my father the move; none of us could.

My father, Alhamisi Uhura, was in Starfleet and had been for a long time. He had made it his career, his life's work. Starfleet wasn't just a job to him; it was a way of life. For a while, despite the difficulty and strain on him, he had commuted between Africa and America. But then, though much desired and welcomed, he was promoted to Starfleet's Command division which only meant that he would be spending _more_ time away from home, not less, as Starfleet Command was based in California. And while living away from his family when in space was one thing, to live without his family while planet side was simply too much.

So, we packed up and moved from the hot, dry sands of Kenya to the blue, sparkling waters of California. It was different, very different, but like all people, we adjusted. Life continued and as it did, I continued to excel in school. Before I knew it, I had finished high school and was officially applying to Starfleet Academy.

Getting in was _hell_.

Admission into the Academy began with the acceptance of a candidate's application. Once that was done, the candidate underwent the Academy's competition exams that determined whether those admitted had the best scores among the group of candidates competing to gain admission. Getting into Starfleet meant being better than your neighbor and the test was quite effective in significantly decreasing the candidate pool.

The exam itself was kick ass. It tested hyperspace physics, dynamic relationships and other things I had no idea I had to prepare for. Not only that, they gave the much feared "psych test," making the candidates face their greatest fear while allowing the threat of random, unannounced tests to hover over our heads, tests that could take place at any time.

After the competition exams, the qualifying candidates were enrolled into the Starfleet Academy Preparatory Program which consisted of six weeks of summer classes designed to prepare prospective cadets for the Starfleet Academy entrance exam. In the Program, applicants were required to perform satisfactorily on tests examining stress reaction, spatial orientation and deductive reasoning. By passing the Program, a candidate's admission was ensured saved they passed yet _another_ test, the Academy's final entrance exam.

See? Hell.

But I completed all the requirements and was confident that I would get into Starfleet… well, as confident as one could be when their hopes and dreams were on the line.

I waited through the summer in nervous anticipation, my heart leaping every time the 'ping' signaling an incoming email sounded on my PADD. Then, it happened; I received _the message._

I can still remember running into my Mama and Baba's room with stomach knotted, hopping from one foot to the other with the official email on my PADD and butterflies fluttering wildly in my belly.

I remember how my Baba held up a hand to calm me as he took the PADD from me, Mama gazing at me in amusement from a rocking chair nearby. I remember watching as Baba pressed a button on the PADD, opening the mail.

Tears began to well in my eyes as my father's face suddenly fell and for a second, my world titled on its axis.

Everything I had done until now, all of my dreams were dependent upon my entry into Starfleet. If I hadn't got in, what would I do…?

But then my Baba's face brightened and a wide smile split his lips.

"Congratulations, baby," he said, his voice warm and proud, "you are now Cadet Uhura of Starfleet Academy."

All I could do was stare at him, my mouth agape, my eyes now filling with tears of happiness.

I crashed into my Baba and he lifted my slender frame easily, engulfing me in a bear hug that I happily returned.

My Mama grinned from ear to ear, lovingly chiding me for my lack of faith and confidence in my own abilities.

My family celebrated my entry into Starfleet for a week with even Sakina and Desta returning from their respective obligations to attend.

That summer I was on cloud nine, I was so happy.

I had succeeded! All of my hard work had paid off. All the nights of studying and watching former friends congregate outside whilst I remained inside working, had paid off. I had been accepted into Starfleet: I was following in my father's footsteps and would experience all the wonders that my father had.

I was in. All I had to do was continue in the same vein as I had been and I would reach the stars.

Nothing could stop me, nothing _would_ stop me.

I would make sure of it.

#*#*#*#*#

Starfleet Academy was like a dream to me.

When I arrived, I could only stare at the teeming campus in wonder as I walked toward my dorm.

I had never seen so many different species of off worlders in my life and it was _incredible…_ and a bit mind boggling.

Although humans are always flooded with information concerning our Federation allies, the truth is that, for the most part, off worlders are rarely seen. The biggest influx of non-humans is always concentrated in specific areas; those of great business, commerce and political importance.

For all that we lived in California and relatively close to Starfleet Academy, the place where we was fit none of these categories: We only saw the occasional Betazoid or Delta—humanoids that could easily pass off as Humans unless examined closely.

But the Academy? It was like all the off worlders that I hadn't seen growing up had been there all along: Bajorans, Andorians, Caitians, Tellarites and more! So many species, so much life… so much _brilliance_.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit intimidated at first.

To get into Starfleet, you had to be the best of the best and although I had done well against those competing for entry, I was still a wet behind the ears cadet.

I was at the bottom of the totem pole: I knew nothing and I_ knew_ that I knew nothing. But I was determined it wouldn't remain that way. I was going to make a name for myself, claw my way to the top. It was the only way to gain a highly coveted position on a starship, the only way to reach the stars.

And I would do whatever it took to get there.

I threw myself into my first year with enthusiasm and vigor, careful to start my career in Starfleet off correctly. Schoolwork was my world and I poured my all into it.

That first year was enlightening. There were so many new things to learn and it was those things that finally gave my major—Xenolinguistics—and chosen profession—Communications Officer—definitive shape and meaning.

I learned that one could be a Communications Officer without being a Xenolingustics major—however impractical that was—indeed, that one could major in any subject and become a Communications officer as long as they had been admitted for that track.

More importantly, I learned what I would be doing as a Communications Officer and how vital the position was. I learned how to receive and translate subspace transmissions, I learned the art of combat and I pushed myself hard to learn everything there was to know about duotronic computer systems.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

By the time first year ended, I had a firm grasp on the expectations of my field, an appreciation for how difficult and stringent the academia was at Starfleet Academy and knowledge of how blessed I was for being accepted.

I did manage to come out at the top of my class, but it was _extremely_ difficult to do. I was not the only dedicated student in Starfleet and I wasn't the only one looking to gain a position on a starship. Sure, there were some slackers on campus, but they were quickly weeded out as Starfleet couldn't afford to cater to those who were anything less than dedicated; lives would be dependent on the work of these future service people, so anyone who had come to the Academy looking for a good time was either whipped into shape or whipped out of service.

That's not to say that we did not have fun, because we did, but time management and prioritizing were key and separated those who succeeded from those who washed out.

I went home that summer proud of my accomplishments and the fact that I was starting to make a name for myself in the midst of such competition. While proud as well, my Baba cautioned me to remain vigilant, for if I was this happy to be at the top of my class, someone else was equally _un_happy that they were not which would only make them work harder next semester.

It was these words of wisdom that I took with me into my second year. Much like my first, I dived into my studies with enthusiasm, determined to maintain my grades, but taking a bit more care to schedule relaxation time. I had learned early not to study to the exclusion of all else, and I remained mindful of being consumed by it all and forgetting that important lesson.

By the time second year had ended I had firmly established myself as an exemplary student, my name becoming synonymous with academic excellence.

Third year passed much as the second and I could not be more proud of myself for being so _focused_. I was steadily on my way to the stars, to continue my Baba's legacy. I was driven, determined, and only a few years away from the starship of my choice.

Everything was going just as I had hoped.

But then everything changed in my fourth year.

Something happened that I never even _considered_, that never even crossed my _mind_. It was so far off my scope that it completely _blindsided_ me, hitting me with the force of a blast from a star gone supernova.

I fell in love.

End of Chapter 1: **Please review**

**Chapter 2: The Commander****: **This is how a mind is blown.

Swahili: (1) "Nyumbani" means home. (2) "Munga" means God. (3) "Kipusa kidege" means beautiful little bird.

A/N: Okay, this is my first Star Trek fic and I hope you guys love it. Please review if you do. I'm going to tell you guys now that reviews are really important to me. If you love it and you want to read more, then please let me know. I hope you enjoyed this. Also, later chapters should be longer. Happy reading.

**WrittinInStone**


	2. The Commander

**2. The Commander**

I am staring at my holovid, watching an old 21st century romance movie when the message comes in.

Gazing at the lovers on the screen for a moment longer, I release a large exhalation of breath and then pause the recording before deftly moving to open the message on my PADD.

Tomorrow begins my first week of school and I am at home, enjoying my final hours here before I head to the academy where I'll be for the next few months. One of the few guilty pleasures that I allow myself to indulge in is my obsession with movies. Romance, fantasy and action/adventure are my favorites and two walls of my bedroom denote my fanatic passion for cinema.

But nothing waits for Starfleet, not even one of my favorite films.

I gaze at my PADD steadily, the data appearing on the screen in the blink of an eye. One of the professors for my class has changed at the last minute. That's not a surprise, it happens more or less every semester, but what _is_ a surprise is _who_ it has changed to.

It's a Commander Spock.

I've never heard of him before and that immediately grabs my attention.

To have a new teacher is something of an event. We have guest speakers and teachers aplenty, but as far as permanent faculty goes, Starfleet is highly selective in their choice of professors, each one having to go through a rather extreme application process in order to be able to shape our pliant minds. Becoming a professor is highly coveted, so much so that it has been nearly four years since the Communications department has had a new teacher, each incumbent guarding their position with fervent jealously. This Commander Spock must be impressive indeed to have been made a professor so suddenly and without prior knowledge of his application by us students.

Cadets always find out about potential new staff before they come to Starfleet. Being uninformed about Commander Spock's entrance into the Communications department until now is unusual and the sole reason I know nothing about him. That's a problem. I always pride myself on being knowledgeable about the temperament and teaching style of my professors; it makes the semester infinitely easier if I know what I'm getting into from the start. Such a sudden and unexpected change in the usual dealings of the academy gives me little time to research him.

I'd better get started.

Rising from my bed, I move to my computer, booting it up with a light touch from my fingers.

In no time, I'm on Starfleet's database and inputting Commander Spock's name. Seconds later, his professional page is displaying on my screen and my eyes widen slightly as it begins to list a rather impressive and _intimidating_ breadth of accomplishments. There are more commendations on his record than I realized Starfleet _had_. He's been honored for exceptional academic achievement, excellence in active duty operations resulting in a promotion to Commander, and has been awarded a myriad of medals, accomplishments and advancements.

My new professor is a superstar.

I frown when another message pings in and my heart immediately leaps into my throat upon seeing who it's from. It's a message from the head of the Communications department at Starfleet, Dr. Soto.

Hands trembling, I open the message and nearly fly out of my chair as I pump my fist in the air and then proceed to do a little dance in the middle of my floor.

Grabbing the old worn-out teddy bear of my youth, Grandy Lumpkins,—the only such relic that I refuse to part with—by both of its little arms from my dresser, I include him in my jig, euphoria rushing through me like a river breaking through a dam.

I am aware of the dark head of my father poking into the room at the sudden noise. He looks at my wild dancing with incredulity and then, shaking his head, withdraws quickly as though concerned that my apparent madness will catch. I don't stop to address him because I, Nyota Uhura, am now one of the new teaching aides for the Communications department this coming semester.

With a huge smile, I finally stop dancing and give Grandy Lumpkins a big hug, squeezing him tight.

Securing a position as a teaching aide is almost like gaining a commendation; it's a position that is fought for and is well known as an indication of future greatness. It is a hand picked position, gained only by the most promising students and bestowed by the heads of each department to specific professors. It is the job of these professors to gauge the leadership ability of their aides. Dr. Soto, Captain Pike, and a great deal of the Admirals were picked as teaching aides. There are, of course, others who hold illustrious positions in Starfleet that did not become teaching aides, but none advance as quickly as those who do.

To gain this position is more than an honor and if Dr. Soto, the head of the Communications department, picked _me _for this position, then that means that I have drawn more than just the notice of my professors. Others, higher in the Starfleet food chain have noticed me and found my work pleasing.

Dear _Munga_, I can't wait to tell Mama and Baba.

With a grin, I place Grandy Lumpkins back on the top of my dresser and pat his head before returning eagerly to my computer. Who am I going to be working with? I had asked to work with Lt. Gy'le because of his study on how the destruction of Qo'Nos' moon and its subsequent creation of the planet's harsh environment directly affected the Klingon language. Over time it changed the Klingon culture from a balanced race to a warrior one. It's so very fascinating that just _thinking _about it makes my pulse race.

I scan the letter, my eyes stopping at the very bottom.

_Staff advisor: Commander Spock_

I frown in confusion. The new teacher is my new boss? That's unusual; they usually give new professors a few semesters to acclimate to Starfleet and the incredible work load before presenting him or her with an advisee.

I scan down further.

_Staff project: Pending _

And I don't even know what I'm working on.

"Nyota!" A voice calls suddenly, breaking into my thoughts, "dinner!"

With a sigh, I close down my terminal, unable to help but be disappointed. I'd really had my heart set on that Klingon project… But I suppose there's not much I can do about it. I'll just have to wait and see what happens with my senior project. And while I'm doing that, maybe I can start doing some research on Commander Spock right here at home.

#*#*#*#*#

Ten minutes later, I am comfortably seated at the Uhura family dining table, listening to my older sister, Sakina, regale us with her adventures in diplomacy. For the past forty five minutes, we've been eating dinner and catching up on all the things that's happened for the past few weeks.

And it's good.

It's been so long since we've all been together with Desta and me being in Starfleet, Sakina working as the senior assistant to Earth's ambassador to Bolarus IX and Ayah enrolling in medical school, that we hardly ever get to see one another. And it's even worse now that Mama has returned to work and is gaining a reputation as a budding Xenopsychiatric expert, not to mention Baba's work with Starfleet Command.

It's been incredibly hard on all of us to be without one another for so long; we've always been very close. It's why my mother has declared the first Sunday every month "family night."

"I will not allow my family to drift apart because of careers and ambition," Mama had said a while back, glaring at each of us in turn. "So, unless one of you is dying somewhere in somebody's alleyway, you all had better be here."

We all heartily bowed down to her wishes and make our way to Pacifica every first Sunday. Now, I am sitting between Ayah and Baba, chowing down on the wonderful meal that Mama has prepared for us.

As we talk and laugh and enjoy each other's company, I turn to my father, finally asking the question that's been on my tongue all evening, "Baba, do you know anything about a Commander Spock?"

Baba pauses from eating to look at me.

"I've heard of him," he answers finally, after a long moment, rubbing his jaw, "why do you ask?"

"Well, I've been assigned a position as his aide for Advanced Phonology this coming semester," I respond, taking a quick bite of collard greens. The faces of my family members light up, and they began to congratulate me fervently on my success. But amidst wide smiles and loud proclamations of admiration and pride for gaining such a highly coveted position, one voice stands out.

"Wait. You're working with Commander Spock? The _Vulcan_, Commander Spock? " Desta asks incredulously from across the table, eyebrows shooting into his forehead.

I immediately perk up. "Vulcan?" I ask with wide eyes, immediately latching on to this new and incredibly _fascinating_ development. My new professor is _Vulcan_? Well, that explains the academic record and throws this whole teaching aide business into a completely new and _wonderfully_ exciting light. I didn't even know that there were any Vulcans in Starfleet Academy let alone Starfleet as a whole. For all of their importance to the Federation, Vulcans are a wholly insular race: Little goes in and practically nothing comes out. Now, to have a Vulcan professor? I feel my eyes glaze over as the possibilities run through my mind like fire on oil, only to be snapped out of my thoughts by my older brother.

"Yes, Vulcan," Desta retorts with a frown, "I had the vast misfortune of meeting Commander Spock last semester and it was one of the worst experiences I've ever had in my whole time at Starfleet."

"Desta!" Ayah exclaims, a slight smile on her face, "he can't really be that bad! You make him sound like a monster."

"Oh, but he is," Desta answers with an unamused snort, shaking his fork at me, "Last year, I went on a training mission to the USS Exeter to take a look at their warp core. It was really no more than a field trip to examine a working model of a starship engine. We were all so excited, just ready to see how our work translated into the field. What we _didn't _know was that the good Commander was in charge and that his sole purpose was to make sure that the visiting group of engineers didn't break his precious ship. I mean_, really, _you should have seen that guy. Staring at us and following us everywhere we went! He wasn't even the Chief Engineer for Munga's sake! Needless to say, when we left, the memories we made weren't about the engineering experience. Thanks to _that_ little episode, I now know what an ant under a microscope feels like."

"Desta," Mama chided gently, shaking her head with a soft smile.

"I don't know if we should believe you," Sakina teases, with a grin, touching his arm gently. "You said that about Professor R'Lian as well."

"Yeah," Desta answers smartly, picking up a fork full of potatoes, "but this time I mean it."

I turn to my father, inquiringly, "Baba?"

After a moment of silence, he answers.

"I've heard that he's brilliant," Baba states carefully, folding his hands, "a true prodigy even for Vulcans."

"Yeah, I kind of got that from his record," I say, twirling my fork in my plate, "he has more commendations than Admiral Mahirn."

"You know how many commendations Admiral Mahirn has?" Desta asks incredulously, not bothering to hide his amusement.

I ignore him. "I'm going to attend his first Advanced Phonology class so I can get a better handle of who I'm dealing with," I continue slowly, "but I still don't want to walk in there blind. What do you think Mama?"

"I think it's very wise to visit his class, _binti yangu_," Mama says approvingly, a warm smile on her face, "Vulcans, as a whole, are an extremely interesting people, seemingly full of contradictions. I've met a few of them at my practice, not a lot, mind you, but a few. They're a notoriously private species and the only thing you can about get from them is their names!"

"Yeah, but I already have his name, Mama," I respond with a sigh, trying to tamp down my growing frustration. "Do you have any advice on how to deal with him?"

"Exercise self-control over your mouth and remember that he is your commander officer," Baba says seriously, shooting Desta a pointed look. "Respect him as such; ignore the bad and learn every single thing you can from him."

"Also," Mama says, speaking up, looking at me intently, "Remember that he is Vulcan, not human. I know you've dealt with a lot of different species in your dealings with Starfleet, but many of them, for all their quirks, are pretty similar to Humans on the surface. But Vulcans? Their differences will hit you like a brick in the face. They're all about logic and truth and while those things sound good in theory, they can just about knock the teeth out of the unprepared. Couple that with their brilliance and you have all the appearances of a rude and arrogant species. Don't get me wrong, some of them are, but most of them are just a product of their culture. So, be careful not to label the whole group that way and remember that he is who he is."

I nod, absorbing her words intently.

"If you just remember who you're dealing with," she continues, "you should be fine."

Giving both Mama and Baba a grateful smile, I nod and as the conversation turns to Ayah's schoolwork, I sink into my own thoughts.

Remember who I'm dealing with, huh?

There are dozens of different species in Starfleet and in my time there, I've learned how to bend to accommodate them all. Dealing with a Vulcan shouldn't be too much different.

I'll know tomorrow. According to the schedule sent to me by Dr. Soto, his first class, Advanced Phonology, is 0800 sharp and I plan to be there. It should be no problem for me to attend seeing as the first week's attendance is the most lenient while classes and schedules are being sorted. Commander Spock shouldn't notice one extra student.

To say I'm not excited about this new turn of events would be an understatement. There's not a person on Earth who has not heard of the legendary mental prowess of Vulcans and I have always craved, however subconsciously, to test my skills against even one such extraordinary thinker.

It seems that now I have a chance.

A wide smile stretches to my face, one that I seem unable to rid myself of. I'm looking forward to tomorrow more than I thought possible and as far as I'm concerned, it can't come soon enough.

#*#*#*#*#

"Are you _serious_?"

I bite back a smile at the look on Galia's face as I finally break the news about my assignment with Commander Spock.

It's Monday morning and I'm in my dorm at Starfleet, preparing to go to Advanced Phonology after which I'll meet Commander Spock for the first time.

It's good to be back on campus again, back in my element; in the order, discipline and tightly controlled chaos of Starfleet. That feeling of harmony coupled with all that this day promises to be makes me more excited to go to class than I've been in a long time: Not only is Commander Spock of a species I've never before encountered, but he's brilliant as well and there's nothing more appealing to me than intelligence.

"Yep," I reply ruefully, as I lay out my cadet reds, "I'm serious. The new professor for Advanced Phonology is Commander Spock. Dr. Soto assigned me to be his academy aide for the year."

"Wow," Galia says sympathetically from her place on her bed, a mischievous gleam in her brown eyes, "told you that too much studying would kill you one day."

"Galia!" I cry in mock reproach. "Working for Commander Spock is hardly a death sentence."

"So says you," she says loftily, waving a hand, "but you didn't see Lieutenant Edmond's face when he heard that the good commander was going to be teaching at the Academy."

"You mean Edmond Kalel, the Andorian? The boxing instructor that teaches advanced hand-to-hand combat?"

"Yep," she replies, shifting so that her body is directly in the sun, but remaining turned toward me, "I was at the gym the other day when a random cadet mentioned Commander Spock's name. Ny, I never knew that blue-skinned Andorians could turn that _pale_."

I shake my head, laughing at her antics.

"You're laughing now, Ny," she responds candidly with a lifted eyebrow, "but if you had seen the way that Lt. Kalel was acting, you would think you _had_ been handed a death sentence. Did you know that he used to be a science officer on the USS Exeter? From what I hear, he was much like you: smart, ambitious, dedicated and the Commander's direct subordinate, working as his assistant."

"Really?" I reply in surprise, both eyebrows shooting up, "if Lt. Kalel's such a great scientist, then why is he teaching _boxing_?"

It's not that boxing is bad, but if this guy is so good, then why isn't he still on a starship or promoted to another such lauded position?

"That's what I've been trying to _tell_ you," Galia says dramatically, rolling her eyes, "Commander Spock _broke_ him! And maybe teaching students how to kick the crap out of one another is the only way to release some of his aggression toward the commander."

"Come on Galia," I say uneasily, frowning slightly, "you can't be serious."

"I am," she responds intently, nodding, "The lieutenant wouldn't give specific details about why, but halfway into his tour, he was transferred back to the Academy. He just couldn't take it anymore."

"I don't know," I reply slowly, as I began to dress, "it sounds like there was a lot more going on than simply being the Commander's assistant."

"Oh, I'm sure there was," Galia responds with a raised brow, "but it makes you wonder doesn't it?"

It _really_ does.

"Just be careful today, okay, Ny?" she continues earnestly, her brown eyes huge with worry, "keep your cool no matter what happens."

I send her a soft smile.

"Of course I will," I say affectionately, moving to give her a tight hug, "and don't worry! It'll be fine and I'll tell you all about it when I get back."

#*#*#*#*#

I arrive to Advanced Phonology at 0758.

Normally, I'm a fifteen-minutes-early type girl, but not today. I'm here for observational purposes only and don't want to be noticed. Thus, I figured it best to come in with the last minute crowd. _Munga_, but it makes me feel dirty, like a slacker.

Quietly, I settle myself into a seat in the shadowed back right corner of the room. The nearly sterile-like white, auditorium styled classroom is filled with the noisy chattering of students and the room is rife with the excitement that comes with being in a new class. It's contagious and although I've already passed this class with top marks, it's nice to see that students at Starfleet are still enthusiastic about learning. Most of that enthusiasm usually dies an extremely violent death by the end of the first week, but that's beside the point.

Crossing my legs under my seat, I wait, a little surprised that the instructor isn't here. I'd think that if Commander Spock truly was Vulcan, he'd be here on time.

No sooner does the clock shift to 0800 exactly, then a male in instructor grays enters the room. He is tall with upswept eyebrows, delicately pointed ears and jet black hair styled in the bow cut that is very specific to one species. This can be none other than Commander Spock and he is, undoubtedly, Vulcan.

I have to consciously stop myself from squirming in my seat as excitement races through me. A Vulcan is in Starfleet Academy _finally._

And _I_ get to work with him.

He walks to the podium with long, assured strides, stopping as he touches a button there. Then he moves beside it, hands behind his back, saying nary a word as he simply looks over us.

The class stares at him in confusion and I can't help but do so as well.

What is he _doing_ exactly?

There is a buzzing sound, then static for a moment before the sound of a recording fills the room. I sit up in interest as soon as it begins playing. There is static for a long moment before it clears and someone speaks.

"_Captain, there's a Klingon vessel 1,000 klicks away," a female voice says. _

"_What are they doing in Federation space?" the Captain responds, a frown in his voice._

"_They're hailing us, sir, on an audio-only channel," a different person, a male, responds._

"_What are they saying, Lieutenant?" the Captain replies, voice grave with the seriousness of the situation._

"_I am translating now, Captain," the male responds._

_There is silence, the only noise being the ambient sounds of the ship and the harsh _tlhIngan_ tongue as the communication officer converses with the unknown Klingon. _

I lean forward as the conversation continues, easily tracking what is happening. The Klingon vessel was damaged after nearly being fried by an unexpected solar flare. They were forced to take refuge in the nearest safe zone which was Federation space. They had already contacted a rescue ship along with an escort and would be leaving as soon as it arrived.

_The communications officer relates the information to his Captain, who, sounding more than a little relieved says:_

"_Very well, relay that they will not be harmed, but that we will remain here until a rescue ship comes to their aid."_

"_Aye, sir," the communications officer replies, before a string a Klingon erupts from his mouth. _

I inhale sharply, suddenly, a noise mimicked by several others as the communications officer makes a massive and grave error in his Klingon. In his translation, he mixed up _toDDuj_ meaning 'rescue ship' with _toDSaH_ which is an epithet meaning 'weakling'. It's an extremely grievous insult in Klingon culture and not something that any true Klingon would allow without retaliation.

My eyes widen in alarm as the discourse from the Klingon instantly becomes hostile and angry. I shake my head slowly in growing dread as one word from the Klingon transmission stands out among all the others: _QI'yaH. _Its meaning defies translation, but it doesn't really need one. It's one of the strongest expletives in the Klingon language and is nearly tantamount to a declaration of war.

It doesn't take me long to realize that this is exactly what happens.

There is another long, angry spate of Klingon, then silence.

The Klingons had cut the transmission.

We all wait in tense silence.

Even the students that don't understand Klingon know that something has gone horribly wrong.

Then, the worst happens.

"_Captain Pressman, we are picking up three more Klingon vessels. They're warbirds, sir," the female voice that first spoke, states._

"_Captain," yet another voice speaks up with forced calm, "they're locking phasers on us, sir."_

"_Why the hell are they doing that?" Captain Pressman demands in alarm, "Lieutenant Jones—?"_

There's an explosion, cutting off the Captain's words.

"_Captain, shields at 21%_" a voice calls out in barely contained panic.

"_Lock phasers, fire everything we have," the Captains says calmly over the noise, "and hail any Starfleet ship in the area for assistance."_

"_Yes, sir!"_

We all stare at one another in horror as the sound of combat emanate from the holo-recorder. A female crew member screams in agony. Klaxons sound around the ship, piercing the quiet of the still, mute classroom, projecting desperation into every corner of the room. A plethora of information and orders are being thrown out: Orders to evacuate, updated statuses on the various functions of the ship including communication abilities, as well as other orders that I cannot distinguish amongst the noise of exploding equipment.

I look down and focus on Commander Spock in alarm, but he simply continues to stand there, back straight, hands behind him, face expressionless.

The chaos continues for what seems like forever, increasing in a fantastic crescendo, until finally, the transmission ends with agonizing abruptness, an incredibly loud silence following in its wake.

We sit there stunned, eyes wide and minds completely blown.

I don't know how long we sit there before finally, Commander Spock steps forward.

When he speaks, all eyes snap to him; every single ounce of attention centers on his form, every iota of concentration tunes into his deep, quiet, confident voice.

"If you do not know exactly what Lieutenant Jones did wrong, then you should not be in this class. If you do, then you have taken the first step in understanding the importance of your position as a Communications officer in Starfleet. Your position is a unique one in that, at any given time, you will be the only person privy to the information that comes to you and it is your job to be able to determine what is important and what is not, to be able to translate, speak and judge. In this class your ability to do these things will be perfected. You will listen, distinguish and evaluate. If you do not do these things to my satisfaction, you will not pass this class. I am Commander Spock and this is Advanced Phonology. Any questions?"

His impossibly dark gaze runs over the class, seeming to touch each student with its intensity.

"Let us begin."

I sit back, mouth hanging open much like a great deal of the class.

And for the first time since I began my career in Starfleet, I have nothing to say.

#*#*#*#*#

I am standing outside of his office, a strange, but incredibly potent mixture of nervousness and admiration running through me like molten lava.

Commander Spock is more amazing then I ever could have imagined. His introduction to Advanced Phonology was _the_ most incredible display I've witnessed. Not only did he lend credence and importance to Communications position itself, but he also impressed upon us the gravity of failure. He simultaneously showed us the extreme relevance of our positions while putting us on guard.

_Absolutely brilliant_.

I straighten quickly as I see a familiar form purposefully round the corner and start down the hall, his long strides bringing him straight toward me. I take a deep breath, my heart beating faster with each step that brings him nearer.

Then, he is in front of me and I am snapping to attention.

If I had thought he was tall while sitting high up in the back of the classroom, it's nothing compared to his height now standing in front of me. He's almost a head taller than me, making me feel quite small and I try not to stare as I take him in. He has a long nose with deep brown, almost black, eyes. He's young and slender, his instructor grays hugging his body in a way that is positively indecent.

Something _else_ to admire.

"Cadet Uhura, I presume," he says evenly, his modulated voice snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Yes, sir," I respond immediately, eyes locked with his.

"At ease, cadet," he states, staring down at me with smooth, expressionless features, "You are early, an unexpected but welcome occurrence as humans of African descent tend to see time as fluent and flexible, resulting in consistent instances of tardiness."

My admiration of him stops with the force of an exploding shuttle.

For a moment, I stare at him with a creased forehead and furrowed eyebrows, unable to believe what I had heard. Did he just say, essentially, that black people are always late? I mean, it's true that we see time differently from our Caucasian counterparts, but that doesn't mean we can't be on time!

"_Excuse me_, Commander?" I sputter, eyes narrow, mouth open as I stare at him in disbelief.

"I said that Humans of African descent tend to view time as fluent and thus find it difficult to attend events at the appointed hour," he _actually repeats_ as he unlocks the door, sparing me nary a glance. "I hope your lack of hearing prowess is not indicative of your future performance."

He opens the door and enters without turning around, obviously expecting me to follow.

Why that… _that_…

I stand there, my mind unable to form a suitable insult as I stare at his retreating back, my mind blown by him.

_Again_.

But _definitely_ not in a good way this time.

Gritting my teeth so hard I can _hear_ them grinding, I follow him, leaving the door open.

He is sitting at his desk, a PADD in front of him. When I enter, he looks at the chair in front of his desk pointedly, and I take a seat, repeating my Mama's mantra in my head and trying to miraculously conjure up the admiration that I had been feeling for him just a few moments before.

_Remember who you're dealing with, remember who you're dealing with_.

"Cadet Uhura, reporting for duty, sir," I intone, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

"I have never understood the Human propensity for stating the obvious," he interrupts, his eyes still on the PADD, fingers deftly flying over it.

I open my mouth and then close it again.

_Do not get offended, _I tell myself, _remember who you're dealing with_.

So, I simply sit there, grinding my teeth to dust until finally, he sits the PADD and looks at me.

"You are to report here every morning at 8 am. You will work for me for two hours grading papers and providing the students with written feedback on homework and classwork assignments. You will not be required to do so for tests and projects. You will return again at 2 pm to aid students in the mechanics of advanced phonology including extensive linguistic analyses, psycholinguistics and laboratory phonology of Vulcan, Romulan, Betazoid, Klingon and Orion languages. You will begin tomorrow."

As he speaks, his voice is clear, his face totally devoid of emotion. When he finishes, he picks up the PADD, and his fingers began flying across it once again.

"You are dismissed, Cadet," he says without looking up.

I didn't think any more could be done to blow my mind, but I guess I was wrong. Not only does his coursework include _things I haven't studied_, but has he already made my schedule _for_ me without consulting me! Not only that, there was no introduction, no conversation, _nothing_. This couldn't even be considered a one-sided conversation; this was a dictation, pure and simple.

And now he's just _dismissing_ me!

For a perverse moment, I think about sitting there and giving him the famous Uhura death glare, but then, I come to my senses and stand, moving smartly out of the office without a word.

As I walk down the hallway in a daze, I can only think one thing:

What the hell just happened?

End of Chapter 1: Please review

**Chapter 3: Aide****: **This is how a person endures.

Swahili: (1) "binti yangu" means my daughter. (2) "Munga" means God. (3) "tlhIngan" means Klingon in… Klingon.

**Thoughts on the chapter**: I decided to take a different approach with Spock's teaching career, as you can see in this chapter, and the reason is simple. While looking at Star Trek 2009 recently, it hit me that Kirk had no idea who Spock was. So, if Spock was truly an infamous teacher—as fanfiction seems wont to paint him—then he would be known to someone like Kirk who would be more likely to run into him being in the Command track then a Communications major. This means that it's more than likely that Spock was not well-known at all. Or at least, that's my rationale.

Thank you to Linstock and Saissa for beta-ing.

A/N: Okay guys, here's my author's bid for reviews. Please give them. Please do not favorite/alert without reviewing, it's kinda rude especially since I know who you are. It only takes a moment to write how you feel about the chapter so, please show the author your appreciation and review. That's for any fic you read.

I am literally writing three different stories for three different fandoms at once, the most popular fic will get the most attention. (Hint: It's Star Wars right now.) I do hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. The next one will come as soon as I can manage to write it. Also, reviews will decide whether I post here or on my site, **Ink Well**. On my site, I don't care about comments so much as hits. If people don't read and reviews lag then I'll post it there. Please see my profile to find the link to Ink Well and read this fic if updates stop completely.

I give updates on all my fics via Twitter so if you want the status of ATU (A Turn Unexpected), then follow me.

Secondly, Camp NaNoWriMo is this month. If you're an aspiring writer of any sort whether novels or screenwriting, or plays etc. Check it out. It's a wonderful event. See my profile for a link to the site. Until next time,

Happy reading

WrittinInStone


End file.
